by Dorien Kelly
From what he’d pieced together from conversations with his solicitor, Rourke had been acting as an enforcer in Coyne’s small-time drug business, and had gotten sloppy. Coyne must have figured it was time Rourke retired. He’d taken advantage of the fact that the man was down and committed the act Michael had turned from. Luckily, Coyne had been careless in the execution. He’d left the hammer he’d used in a trash bin the next block down.
Yes, the pieces had fallen together quite nicely. Michael couldn’t say he had a renewed faith in the law, but he no longer saw it as his enemy.
He gave one more futile glance around the crowded room. He’d already tried his sister’s house and gotten no answer, of course. And Kylie could be in no shape to drive, what with the blow to her head and exhaustion from stewing up the wild lies he’d been told she’d offered as his alibi.
Resigned to slow torture on Bus Eireann, he made his way to the jail’s exit. As he pushed through the steel “Out” door, a familiar figure came barreling through the “In.”
The smile that had been with him since he was freed grew into a fool’s grin.
“Kylie,” he called, but she’d already entered the building.
Michael followed. By the time he’d cleared the proper “In” door, Kylie was already at the front desk harassing the clerk. He came up behind her and settled his hand on her shoulder.
“Do you mind?” she snapped without looking back. “I was here first and you can bloody well wait your turn.”
Never in his life had he felt this absurdly happy. He could think of only one moment that might soon top it.
“Ah, but I’ve waited a lifetime, love, and I won’t be waiting any longer.”
She spun to face him. “Michael. Thank God, Michael.”
Epilogue
May your troubles be less
Your blessings be more.
And nothing but happiness
Come through your door.
—Irish Toast
Kylie woke early the morning of her wedding. She quickly showered and dressed, but not in the lovely gown she’d be wearing later. Still, she couldn’t help but pause and admire it. She gently ran her fingers across the lace veil Breege had given her. Sewn inside the headpiece was Kylie’s favorite part of all—the tiny bit of lace Breege had made before concluding that lace making was “bloody torture.”
Kylie hummed to herself as she tugged on her old sweater and work pants. Checking her watch, she hurried out the front door and through the field to the meandering stone wall she’d been building since spring.
It was a fine August Saturday. The sky above was free of clouds, and once the sun chased off dawn’s chill, the weather would be perfect. So much in her life was perfect.
She’d regained her teaching position and looked forward to a new crop of students come fall. Gerry Flynn had packed up and moved on, which was the best for all concerned. Breege was recovering quite nicely from her accident. Just last month, she’d moved into Ballymuir proper, and Michael had bought the farmhouse and land from her. Kylie was honored to be making her new home in a place that had seen so much love.
Even Da had found his idea of heaven and taken a job at the dog track in Tralee. She doubted they’d be letting him near the till. As for Kylie’s bit of paradise, he was walking over the rise just now.
Michael’s stride was long and easy, that of a man who knows what he’s about. He slowed when he spotted her, looked down at his clothing, then laughed.
“So you’re wearing the same clothes you wore that first day, too?” he said.
She smiled because his heart so perfectly matched hers. “I am.”
As he came to her, she held out her hands. He took them in his.
“Thank you for coming here so early,” she said.
“Thank you for the invitation. You know I’d do anything for my almost-wife,” he teased.
Kylie gripped tighter to his hands. “I want us to continue as we began... here, in this field. And I have some promises to make.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but she said, “Wait—I need to get this out before I do something silly like cry.” She drew in a breath. “I, Kylie O’Shea, promise that I’ll do my best to make every day of our lives together as magical as the day we found each other.” She blinked back the start of tears. “I promise I’ll stand strong no matter what comes our way, and that I’ll love you beyond the end of time.”
He swallowed hard, and his green eyes shone. “That was beautiful, love. Now let me give some promises of my own. I, Michael Kilbride...” He faltered, then cleared his throat. After a moment he said, “Well, I’m glad we’re getting the choking-up out of the way while it’s just the two of us.”
He began again. “I, Michael Kilbride, promise that I’ll wake each morning and thank God for the gift I’ve been given in you. I’ll rejoice in our family as it grows, and keep us safe and warm. But most of all, I promise that to my last breath and beyond, I’ll love and treasure you.”
He wiped the tears from her face. Then, gently and thoroughly, he kissed her.
That evening, as Michael and Kylie sat at a raised table in the Village Hall, Michael again took Kylie’s hand in his. She was well and truly his wife now, a miracle if ever one had occurred. The vows they’d made at St. Brendan’s in front of friends and family had been joyous, but the morning’s private promises were those of his heart.
Still, he was glad to share the day with those he loved. Kylie’s choice of location for their reception had surprised him, but she’d said that the ill spirits lingering in the hall needed to be danced away.
Given the crowd filling the place, Michael was sure that would happen. The twins looked proud and handsome in their Sunday best. Even Mam had managed to put on a good face and not peck at Da too horribly. Not that Breege was giving her the chance to misbehave. She watched both Johnny and Mam with a sharp eye.
Michael had made his peace with Johnny weeks ago. Kylie had finally told him the full picture of what happened that terror of a night, years before. It was an awful burden Johnny lived with, knowing what his schemes had cost his only child. But with Kylie’s example of love and forgiveness, Michael could do no less than welcome Johnny as a father-in-law.
And then there was Vi... She’d sung “Ave Maria” at church, and there’d not been a dry eye in the place. Now she raised her glass, and the hall fell quiet.
“Before we begin the fabulous meal that our own Jenna Fahey has made, I want to say a few words. First, to Michael.” She looked at him, pride shining in her green eyes. “I love you, brother. No man deserves happiness more than you. When you came to Ballymuir, I had one wish for you... that you’d find someone to open your heart. You did, and all of us in this room are the richer for it.”
She turned her attention to Kylie. “Kylie, words for you were a bit more difficult to come by. After all, who could out-do your speech in O’Connor’s Pub a few months back?” The crowd laughed and Kylie raised her own glass in salute.
“So,” Vi said, “I sat myself down with Breege Flaherty, and we had a chat. Now, Breege says that a great number of people in town had been concerned about you. It seems you were destined to be the last bride in Ballymuir.
“I’m a bit worried that all this fine Irish air has gone to their heads, for there are those among us, myself included, who have now managed to stay unwed longer than you. It’s clear to me, the last sane woman in this town, what your true destiny is.
“A toast to my brother Michael and to his wife, Kylie—the most beautiful bride in Ballymuir.”
****
If you enjoyed your visit to Ballymuir, please leave a review!
Also, look for the next two Ballymuir novels:
THE BOLDEST MAN IN BALLYMUIR (Book 2)
THE BRIGHTEST FLAME IN BALLYMUIR (Book 3)
About the Author:
Dorien Kelly is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over fifteen novels. She lives a very exotic life (not!) in Michigan and Nebras
ka. Dorien loves hearing from readers.
Visit her website at http://www.dorienkelly.com. You can find her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/authordorienkelly and on Twitter at http://www.twitter.com/dorienkelly.
About Ballymuir:
I have been lucky enough to have visited Ireland a few times, the first visit for a full month. I would be the luckiest woman on Earth if I lived there. Sadly, no. If Ballymuir were a real village, it would be out Slea Head Road on County Kerry’s Dingle Peninsula, somewhere past the town of Dingle. In writing my Ballymuir stories, I have tried to be true to the spirit of Ireland and to my love of that land. Any errors are mine alone, and should you come across one, please let me know!
Slan!
Dorien
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Epilogue
About the Author
About Ballymuir